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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077535">Making mistakes without anyone's help</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms'>rickyisms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Best Friends, Character Death, Friend Break Up, Funerals, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Minor Character Death, Multi, Reunions, denice ford who is just trying her best, professional hockey player connor whisk, teacher tony tangredi, this is about friendship all of the ships are just canon background fics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>7 years ago, three friends independently promised themselves that they would never speak to one another again. All on different paths, they're content to for those paths not to cross. Not so easy when they're al called back to Massachusetts to bury their coach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor "Whiskey" Whisk/Original Male Character(s), Denice "Foxtrot" Ford &amp; Tony "Tango" Tangredi &amp; Connor "Whiskey" Whisk, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Ollie O'Meara/Pacer Wicks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. All the days and weeks unfolding as we</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A lot can happen in seven years</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Connor Whisk gets off the ice in Houston. He can feel the sweat dripping from his hair. A couple of his teammates joined him for the power-skating session and they’re all in similar states of exhaustion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck Whisker,” Paulie groans, and flops down onto the bench dramatically. He takes a massive gulp of water, “She like this every week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor just shakes his head with a smile, chest still heaving from exertion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re little baby boys,” Leanne, his power-skating coach shouts from across the ice where she leans nonchalantly against the boards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do this every weekend?” Buggsy says, his eyes are wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the summer, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why he’s faster than you,” Paulie elbows Buggsy and Connor laughs again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, summer should be for sitting by the pool and eating hot dogs,” Buggsy says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah okay, we’ll have to start calling you pudgy next season at this rate,” Paulie pokes at Buggsy’s stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buggsy squirms away, “That’s just extra padding, baby,” he winks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck is Ike,” Connor mutters to himself, “We said five minute bathroom break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s probably hurling,” Buggsy says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Typical rookie,” Connor says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talkin’ like a veteran already, huh Whisk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Six years in Houston, I think I’ve earned it,” Connor shoots back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hear a door slam shut and they all turn to see Ike walking towards them. He doesn’t look as flushed as he had a moment ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready to go, Ikesy?” Connor turns to face the rookie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, actually, C,” Ike holds up Connor’s phone, “It uh, wouldn’t stop ringing, so I answered it. Uh, I’m sorry for your loss,” he says and then he hands over Connor’s cell phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you talking about,” Connor snatches his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence, and then, “Bitty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence and then, “Oh shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denice Ford steps back out into the dining room after her fifteen minute break, apron pulled tight around her waist, customer service grin plastered on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what can I get for you, gentlemen?” She says to a pair of older men. Her face hurts from having to smile so much all day, and her feet permanently ache from the ballet flats that are a part of her uniform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a refill on the coffees,” one of the men says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denice smiles and nods, “Let me get that for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure it’s fresh!” the other man calls as she walks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile falls as she faces away from them. It’s not that she hates her job, it’s just exhausting, and not what she thought she’d be doing nearly ten years after graduating. So the customer service smile falls whenever she’s not being looked at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jess, is the coffee fresh?” Denice asks. Her tone is so flat that Jess can tell immediately that she doesn’t actually care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If by fresh you mean we made it at breakfast, then yeah it’s fresh,” Jess rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you just like, microwave it and dump it into a clean pot?” Denice mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it, babes,” Jess says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denice makes herself look busy near the cash register. She grabs two new mugs for the old men at the table in the middle of the diner. It’s a beautiful day out, she hates that so much of her summer is being wasted inside a seventies diner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wipes down the counter. The kitchen door swings open and Jess is holding the pot of coffee and the phone for the restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Denice, honey,” Jess says, “I’ll take care of your tables, you need to take this phone call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Denice says, the smile falling from her face once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jess takes the mugs from Denice’s hands and gives her the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence as she walks back into the kitchen, “Bitty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony Tangredi hits the floor to avoid being pelted with dodgeballs by nine year olds. He can’t really complain, since he did volunteer for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get him!” Sean, easily the most rambunctious member of the gym class shouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony ducks Sean’s dodgeball easily and scrambles to pick it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that the best you guys have got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony takes a step forward, he fakes a throw and he hears some giggling and some squealing from the kids . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re out!” Tony hits Sean in the ankles and then points at him. He scrunches up his nose and sulks over to the bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha nice one Mr. Tangredi!” Jennifer, the fastest girl in the class snorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony banks a different dodgeball off the wall and it hits her in the girl in the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fair!” She sulks to join Sean on the bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony picks off his 5th grade class one by one. He has never lost a game of dodgeball against the 5th graders (only one game and it was against the 8th graders) so he doesn’t know why they keep voting it in as their Friday Fun Gym Game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, it gets down to Tony and one last kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Faizal, it’s you and me,” he’s holding two dodgeballs in his hand. Faizal’s holding one in front of him to block Tony’s shots, it’s a solid strategy. Tony has a collection of about six dodgeballs at his feet on his side of the gym. Faizal bonks the dodgeball into the air, casting it to the side. This earns an uproar of cheering from his classmates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony picks up another ball, Faizal sidesteps it, it whizzes past his ear. Faizal, never turns his back to Tony, just retreats to pick up the extra dodgeball. He hurls it at Tony. Tony has no choice but to hit the floor again. He rolls to avoid Faizal’s second attack and his class boos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony holds his hands out in a ‘bring it on’ kind of motion as he gets back to his feet. He throws a dodgeball at Faizal, and Faizal too hits the floor, and Tony is like, kind of impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His classmates are sitting on the benches at the sides of the gym absolutely losing their minds and if Tony didn’t want to lose the respect of his class, he thinks he might also start cheering for Faizal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony hears the gym door creaking open behind him. He turns to look. It’s at that exact moment that Faizal decides to throw his final dodgeball right at Tony’s head. He has no choice but to fall backwards to avoid it. He knows what’s about to happen before he can do anything to stop himself. He falls backwards directly into the opening door. He hears the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thud </span>
  </em>
  <span>echo through his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on the floor and his ears are ringing, and the principal is looking down at him in shock? Surprise? Probably a little bit of horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Mr. Tangredi are you okay!” Faizal shouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony gives a halfhearted thumbs up and turns his attention to the principal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. Beech,” he says with a dazed smile, “what can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a phone call in the office,” she says in a grave voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes later, Tony’s sitting in a chair in the secretary’s office with an ice pack pressed against his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bitty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is the thing that I posted about writing on tumblr so i uhhhh actually wrote it, ta da. it gets angsty before it gets heartfelt and wholesome</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Buttoned up our coats and headed home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Connor Whisk gets out of a rented Dodge Charger in front of the church in Boston. It’s too hot to be wearing dress shoes, and he has his black button up rolled up to his forearms. He sees his teammates in the parking lot. He’s still not sure where he stands with most of them. He’s talked to Chowder a handful of times over the years when he’s been playing in San Jose. Sometimes they’d get dinner after the Sharks game and Chowder would talk about the job he has that Connor doesn’t understand, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinks </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chowder’s the guy who does the code for the ice projections before the games, but he’s never been sure and never cared enough to ask. And Dex, Dex has sent a couple of texts, a congratulations here and there when he hit a milestone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Jack more than any of them, four times a year at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and walks toward the group of them. He sees Nursey retreat, going to talk to someone else, Connor recognizes him as the video coach at Samwell, he wonders if he’s still there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, can’t believe you came all the way from Houston for this,” Chowder says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You flew from San Jose, C,” Connor points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chowder shakes his head, “We have a place in Worcester, since Cait plays volleyball out here in the summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Connor says, he didn’t know that she ever went pro. Good for her though, “Well. It’s Coach Hall,” Connor says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone nods a little bit solemnly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bitty’s doing the eulogy, isn’t he?” Dex asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chowder nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone always knew that Hall didn’t have much family outside of hockey. He never got married, never had kids. His teams were his family, his coworkers. The old running joke that Murray and Hall were married to hockey seems to be persisting, even after both of them died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony Tangredi parked his Toyota Camry up the block. He see Ransom and Holster standing near the entrance of the church. Holster pulls him in for a big, tight hug that Tony returns with equal fervor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been ages, man,” Ransom says and pulls Tony in for the next hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s the child wrangling going?” Holster asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs, he moves his hair out of the way so that they can see the bruise on his forehead from where the door clocked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dodgeball’s no joke,” Tony says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ransom and Holster nod and agree very seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should head in, ah?” Holster says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ransom nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sees Connor Whisk from across the church, he’s crouched down in front of a kid, and he’s dressed like an NHL douchebag. Makes sense for an NHL douchebag. The kid must be Jack and Bitty’s, she looks about the right age. Cait and Chowder’s kids are slightly older, born a year after they moved to San Jose, a few years after the two of them graduated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lardo puts her arm around Denice Ford as they walk into the church. Shitty offered to pick her up on their way in from Cambridge so she didn’t have to take the train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it wrong to place bets on how long it takes Shitty to start crying?” Lardo asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denice shakes her head with a small smile, “He doesn’t make it five minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy money,” Lardo says, “He cries before we even get in the church. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bits!” Shitty calls, Bitty’s standing on the steps, cue cards in hand looking more stressed than anyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my lord, it’s been too long!” Bitty says and he throws himself at Shitty and then at Lardo. He gives Denice a much more tentative hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told ‘ya,” Lardo elbows Denice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well we should head in,” Bitty says and clears his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can’t start without you, Bits,” Lardo says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s true, don’t wanna keep folks waitin’ up though. Kids are bound to get restless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right, Denice thinks, everyone’s got kids now. Or real grown up jobs, or real grown up partners. She sighs, hopefully not too noticeably. She slides into a pew next to Lardo and Shitty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack and their daughter are sitting in the front row. Bitty joins them as a priest walks up to the pulpit. Denice watches Jack kiss the top of Bitty’s head. She does a scan of the room. She sees most of the people she spent half of college with, some old friends, alumni, coworkers, people Denice assumes must have known Coach Hall in some way or another. The hockey world isn’t particularly big. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tango has a bruise on his forehead, Denice tries not to wonder where it came from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The priest says some words, invites them to say a Catholic prayer and then he invites Bitty up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bitty’s hands shake as he sets the cue cards on the podium in front of him. There’s a microphone in front of his face, he looks up and gets startled by it, he jumps slightly and a hum of laughter echoes through the church. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny,” Bitty says. And he smiles, and the church gets a little bit warmer, “I would not be the person I was today if it wasn’t for Coach Hall. Coach took a chance on me when I was 18 years old, a little figure skater from Georgia who’d never played contact hockey. He offered me a scholarship and a place on his team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bitty takes another small breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coach Hall made you work for things though. He scheduled practices at 6am and if you weren’t playing to the best of your abilities, he made sure you knew it. Not so you felt bad, but so that you could get better. We used to joke that Coach was married to hockey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wolf whistle from somewhere in the church, everyone turns to see Holster grinning with his finger and his thumb in his mouth. Everyone laughs, Bitty too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And while I’m pretty sure he still slept in Bobby Orr bedsheets, I’m not entirely sure that hockey is what Coach was married to. Coach was a coach. He knew people. He knew what we needed to grow, not just as hockey players, but as people. In my first season at Samwell University, Coach Hall put me on a line with an incredibly tall, incredibly handsome and incredibly bitchy French Canadian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another laugh. Jack shrugs from his seat in the front row. Their daughter giggles because Daddy just said a bad word in church and that has to be celebrated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought he had to be losing his last marble then, because there was no way it would work. Not only did that man have the assist on my first NCAA goal, but that man is now my husband and the father of my amazing daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone wipes a tear, someone’s grinning wide, they’re the same person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coach Hall did that for all of us. He had a talent for bringing people together through hockey. Teammates became lifelong friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three former teammates shift awkwardly in their seats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was so proud, the day we won the NCAA championship, of each and every one of us. Whether we scored the game winner or blocked shots like our lives depended on it. For me at least, it really and truly felt like the end of a spectacular journey and if it wasn’t for Coach Hall, it never would have happened. Coach Hall loved hockey, that’s unquestionable. But he touched all of our lives far more than just winning a championship together. He listened. Even if you weren’t actually talking, he was always listening to you. He always somehow knew what was best for you. I invite everyone to bow their heads in remembrance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing Bitty,” Tony says  and he puts his hand on his former captain’s shoulder. They’re standing in the parking lot after the service.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank you,” Bitty says, “It was nothin’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He stayed up all last night trying to make sure it was perfect,” Jack interjects. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true,” their daughter says from her place in Jack’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I know your name yet,” Tango says, looking directly at the rosy cheeked girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sadie,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Tango,” Bitty says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t heard that nickname in a while,” Tony says, “My students call me Mr. Tangredi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I still call you Tango?” Sadie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, why not? You can call me Tony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like Tango,” Sadie says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then I’m Tango to you,” he grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too sweet,” Bitty says, scooping Sadie out of Jack’s arms and throwing her up in the air, she giggles as Jack smiles on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you soon, okay Sadie Baby,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going,” Sadie pouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well sweetheart, we’re going to scatter Coach’s ashes today, and you’re going to have an afternoon just with Papa, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why aren’t we coming?” Sadie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony can see she’s clearly hit her </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>phase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bitty kisses the top of her forehead, “We told you, honey,” Bitty says, “We’re gonna go spread his ashes down at the campus, we explained that part last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t quite know how to exit this conversation, so he just stays, smiling and polite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why can’t Papa and I come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just gonna be the boys from the team,” Bitty says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Papa-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord, Sadie you sure are full of questions,” Bitty says with a wide grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy won a championship for Coach Hall,” Jack says, “And besides, someone had to hang out with you,” Jack says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Tony interrupts clearing his throat, “I didn’t know that was in the plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Bitty says, “It was in the email I sent everybody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony realizes that he absolutely didn’t read the entire thing through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must have missed it,” Tony says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Bitty’s brow furrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I’ll absolutely be there,” Tango says, “Sorry I didn’t read it all the way through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh don’t worry about it,” Bitty waves his hand dismissively, “You’re here now, that’s what counts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tony gets into his car, the first thing he does is read the email. He realizes that in addition to the email about the funeral service that included the address and the name of the bishop, he’s also received an email about meeting at Samwell for a “celebration of life” and to scatter coach’s ashes. Tony takes a deep breath. Okay, it’s fine, he can handle it. He taps the screen and scrolls down to see the names of the other recipients of the email, Derek Nurse, Chris Chow, William Poindexter, Ollie O’Meara-Wicks, Pacer O’Meara-Wicks, John Hopper, River Bullard, Lukas Landmann. Those names are all expected, Tony can handle those names. It’s the last two in the email chain that makes his throat close up just a little bit, Connor Whisk and Denice Ford. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And obviously, of course they’re part of this. Whiskey scored the game winning goal the year they won the championship, the year before he fucked off for good. Of course these are the people Bitty would want there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still fills Tony with undefinable dread. Seeing them from a distance in the church was one thing, he didn’t have to talk to them there, didn’t have to remember old bygones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now though? Fuck, now Tony doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to hide how much he still hates both of them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i really do appreciate comments a whole lot (i swear i am trying to get better at answering them) so leave some if you liked it, but I'm not your boss, i can't tell you what to do</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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